


Build me a nest

by suse



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fluff, Forging, Getting Together, M/M, Nesting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 06:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19435681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suse/pseuds/suse
Summary: When Eames enters the building after his lunch break, Arthur is perched on his desk.Or: the one where Arthur has had a brilliant idea to get Eames to notice him.





	Build me a nest

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Inceptiversary!

When Eames enters the building after his lunch break, Arthur is perched on his desk.  
It’s not that he sits on the corner or something equally ordinary; he’s crouching on the corner of the desk, his head slightly cocked.  
Eames narrows his eyes. On the one hand, this is not regular Arthurian behaviour. On the other hand, Arthur has an extremely volatile personality and does not like it when his actions are called into question. Eames does not feel like getting punched in the kidneys again.

It’s probably an experiment or a new yoga fad, Eames decides, and slinks off to his workspace. 

Things start moving quickly when Ariadne arrives ten minutes later, carrying her own chai latte and Arthur’s espresso, and drops them on the sight of Arthur, still crouching on his desk in the same position as before.  
Arthur squawks (squawks!) and hops off the desk to hide behind it. 

Now, Eames decides, is the time to panic. 

As he’s furiously exchanging text messages with Yusuf [Can you describe his exact behaviour?] [he’s... hopping] [What exactly do you mean by hopping?] [he. is. hopping. and PERCHING. there might be a bit of whistling involved too] he notices that Ariadne is actively avoiding eye contact. 

“Anything you want to tell me, Ari?”

Ariadne bites her lip. “I… might know what’s going on with Arthur.”

Eames throws his phone into the couch cushions and makes an exasperated gesture. “Will you bloody share it with me then. What do you know?”

They hear a soft warbling coming from behind the desk. Eames puts his head into his hands. Ariadne gestures him to the couch. “Guess you’d better sit down for this.” 

\- 

“So,” Ariadne starts, her voice light, “you know how Arthur has always admired your forging skills?” 

Eames does _not_ like where this is going. 

Ariadne swallows. “And how you sometimes tell him that everyone can do it, if they have enough imagination and take enough time to study the craft?”

Eames has actually given Arthur a lecture on this very subject only last week.

“... And how Arthur secretly craves your approval and will go to great lengths to get it?”

Eames growls some very creative curse words and leaves the building. 

-

When he returns, an hour or so later, Arthur has moved on to the floor underneath their lunch table and seems to be pecking at some bread crumbs that have fallen on the floor. It's strangely soothing, watching him like this. He seems so at peace.

It can’t last, though. 

“I placed some calls,” Eames grumbles to Ariadne, who is _not_ forgiven and won’t be for at least the coming week. “We need to shock him out of it.”

Ariadne stares at him blankly.

He sighs. “There has obviously been some transference, as is wont to happen with new practitioners of the craft,”

“Preten-ahem-tious,” coughs Ariadne, not being subtle at all.

“But,” he ignores her smoothly, “since he hasn't been under for a long time and there are no problems with the compound, according to Yusuf, an extra kick should do it.”

Ariadne eyes him suspiciously. “I'm probably stating the obvious here, but Arthur's already awake. How do you give him a kick when he's not sleeping?”

That’s the question, isn’t it?

-  
Three hours later, they’ve sure learned a lot about what _doesn’t_ constitute a kick. 

They’ve tried making noise (Arthur warbling along, happily).  
They’ve tried dunking him in water (apparently, Arthur loves bird baths).  
They’ve snuck up on him to give him a scare. Eames has the bite marks on his hands to prove it (“And birds don't even have teeth, Arthur, why didn't you at least bloody remember that?”)

Eames also suggested feeding him an earthworm, but that’s where Ariadne draws the line.

It's eleven o'clock at night and Eames has had it.  
“I'm taking him home, Ari, we'll fix him in the morning. Perhaps he just needs a good night of sleep.”

Ariadne shakes her head. “You can't take him to his room. What if he wants to go flying and jumps off the balcony or something?” 

Arthur thrills and flaps around a bit, almost as if to make a point. 

“You’ll have to take him to yours, Eames.”

Eames saw this coming a mile away.

-

It's not easy, taking your pointman-who-thinks-he's-a-bird along in a cab. The drive seems to be very upsetting to Arthur and Eames has to hum some smooth jazz to him before he calms down, the driver staring at them in the mirror. 

When they arrive at Eames’ room, it turns out that Arthur has no plans to sleep in Eames’ bed. He hops around, never getting comfortable, staring at Eames with big brown eyes and squawking indignantly. 

“I know, Arthur, I'm tired too,” hushes Eames. “Don't you want to sleep?” 

Where do birds even sleep?

That's when the quarter drops. Eames grabs as much t-shirts, joggers and hoodies as he can find and drops them next to his bed.  
“Voila, Arthur,” he says, waving at the pile. “Have at it.”

It's quiet for a bit, Arthur hopping around and poking at the clothes. But then he gets in. It's amazing how soon he creates some semblance of a nest with only his mouth. Eames is very impressed. He does not tell Arthur this, of course. Of course Arthur can build a nest. Arthur can do anything he sets his mind to.

At one o'clock the shuffling and poking has finally stopped. Arthur sits proudly atop his nest, and seems to be resting.  
Eames, dead tired, falls asleep immediately. 

-

When Eames wakes, he experiences a moment of extreme awkwardness. Arthur is perching next to him, on his bed, staring right into his eyes.

“Still a bird then, huh?” he yawns. 

Arthur pecks him on the shoulder, affectionately. 

Eames snorts and gets out of bed to prepare his muesli and make an action plan. 

-

Opening the curtains is simultaneously a brilliant and a terrible idea. Upon seeing the light, Arthur squawks loudly, leaps at the window and, to Eames’ neverending surprise and a tiny bit of glee, crashes headfirst into it.

-

“He's out like a light,” says Eames into his cellphone.

“Guess you found a kick at least,” mutters Ariadne. “If he has a concussion, you nurse him back to health yourself, you hear me?”

-

A few minutes later, Arthur opens his eyes. Eames looks on with a mix of nervousness and healthy curiosity. After all, this is the first time that he can observe someone dealing with the effects of transference. 

The first sound that passes Arthur’s lips is a soft chirp, that soon changes into a cough. His eyes are slowly focusing on his surroundings, but he seems desperately trying to avoid eye contact. 

“It’s fine, Arthur,” Eames sighs. “We’ll just never speak of it again. Even though I am very curious to hear why you felt like you needed to try forging, on your own, into a different species, without consulting the one person you know that happens to be one of the best if not _the_ best forger currently working in dreamshare. Who also happens to have an extremely helpful and sharing personality and -” 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Arthur interrupts him bluntly. 

Eames snaps his mouth shut, biting his lip in the process. He did not expect this level of candor from someone he once saw refusing to answer which soup he preferred.

“Why?”

Arthur chirps again and immediately looks very frustrated with himself. He sits up slowly, supporting himself with one hand.

“You know why.”

Eames takes a moment to consider. 

“Actually, I don’t. You surprise me often, with all sorts of things. ” He pauses. “Except if this is still about the stick-in-the-mud comment?” 

Arthur shakes his head, but a slight blush gives him away.

“Darling,” says Eames.

“Just - just don’t, Eames. I have resigned myself to this years ago. You will always see me as an efficient, unadventurous bore.” Arthur is scrambling to get up, but Eames carefully puts a hand on his arm. 

Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but Eames decides to be clear for once in his life. 

“I said these things about you, my dear Arthur, because I didn’t want my colleagues to instantly infer how I see you.”

Arthur blinks. 

Eames continues, “And yet they got it anyway. I like you. Very much so. Always have. You and your perfectionism and your moods and - “

He can’t finish his sentence, because Arthur pulls him onto his lap.

“You like me?”

“Yes.”

Arthur smiles a tiny, dazzling smile. 

“I like you too, Mr. Eames.”

Eames leans his forehead against Arthur’s. 

“Good.”

And kisses him, slowly and thoroughly.

-

That night, there’s some tossing and turning in the nest. 

“Did I surprise you, though?”

“Go to sleep, Arthur.”

\- 

“I had it all planned out. I was going to fly to you in a dream and sit on your outstretched hand and I would sing.”

“Like I were Snow White?”

“Fuck you. But yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> How dreamshare gossip manages to turn this story into "Arthur forges into a giant hawk and pecks out your vocal chords if you complain on a job," they'll never know.


End file.
